Legacy of the Bat Part 1: Commencement
by ZaraValinor
Summary: Terry McGinnis has been Batman for six years. He's got the job down. But a new enemy comes to challenge our hero. First part in a series.
1. Chapter 1

The Bank of Gotham cast a long shadow in the moon light. It was heading into early morning and the moon had reached its zenith and was now making its fall towards the horizon.

Standing at the base of the building were a group of Jokerz, those that sought to emulate the dead Clown Prince of Crime. They were dressed in an array of overtly colored velvet suits, their faces painted to look like jesters that haunted children's nightmares. They were out in force tonight, to initiate new members into their gang and the gaudy outfits were adorned by weapons, both archaic and new aged.

James Callister was the initiate for this group. There were only 10 of them for this job. The rest of the gang had broken up into similar groups and were running their own pranks for the night. Each group wondering if the Bat would swoop down on them. It was all part of the initiation, finding out who had what it took to be a Joker.

The thrill of being caught was just an added high to their already addled minds.

That was the cause of James' tremors, the shake to his fingers and the jelly-like quality to his knees. He wasn't afraid, not of a simple bank job, and certainly not of the cops. The leader of the gang, the one who had started to organize the rabble, had already paid off a number of on duty cops. They'd turn a blind eye to tonight's activities for a share of the rewards.

It was the moving shadows, that caused his heart to trip heavily in his chest. The Bat could be anywhere, and, it was said, you wouldn't know where he was until he fell upon you.

* * *

Terry McGinnis sat perched on the edge of one of the finer high rise walls, the boots of the batsuit keeping him perfectly affixed to the brick. He had hoped for an early night, seeing as tomorrow was his graduation day from Gotham University, but the Jokerz had become a much more effective team over the last year and had him hoping from one end of a Gotham to the other.

He was going to be utterly slagged for his graduation. He'd yet to get a suite for the ceremony so there was little possibility that he'd be able to sleep in tomorrow, despite the fact that it was set for the evening.

Wayne had considered giving him a light evening, a quick patrol tomorrow night. That was before the graduating class had come to him, having learned he worked for Bruce Wayne as his personal assistant, begging him to talk his employer into speaking at the graduation. The gnarled and resounding 'no!' had faded into a reluctant acceptance, faster than Terry would have anticipated.

If it had been anyone else, Terry would have considered that Wayne was getting soft in his old age. But Wayne didn't soften, he curdled.

There had to be some ulterior motive, but Terry was too tired and too happy to get his way to ponder what that motive was. Besides, Wayne was probably another five steps ahead of him.

"Bank of Gotham," the old man's voice interrupted his reverie.

He gritted his teeth and fired his rockets, opening his red lined wings as he went, soaring through the air. "At least they're closer this time. What's up, Bruce? They aren't usually this active in one night."

"Any irregularities?"

_If there were don't you think I'd mention them_? Terry groused mentally. After six years as Batman, he'd thought the old man would have known he wasn't a rookie any longer. "Besides the frequency? No. There are only a few unfamiliar faces and they're about as stupid looking as ever."

Wayne fell silent until Terry was nearly at the bank. "Keep an eye out."

He spotted the clowns just as they were bashing the door open. "Get the Commish and her people over here," he ordered before swooping down to tackle the closest Joker.

The headset went dead and Terry allowed himself a grin. Bruce hated that Terry occasionally beat him to the punch like this. He never said anything and that's how Terry knew. The old man hid all his true feelings under the mask of his constant ire. His silence was always the most telling.

As much as Bruce drove him to the edge of sanity sometimes, he also probably understood the old man better then anyone. What was the old saying, you had to walk in a person's shoes to truly know them. He supposed wearing the suit of a hero was just about the same thing.

Not that Wayne would ever cease to be inscrutable.

Gotham would become sunshine capital of the world before that happened.

Terry spun and lashed out with his heal, catching one Joker in the chin and sending him flying into another. Another, with his eyes and lips darkened with coal, lashed out with a chain, the end wrapping snugly around Terry's wrist. The Tomorrow Knight looked down at the chain and then back at Joker with a baleful glare that sent shivers down the criminal's spine.

"Wrong move, dreg," Batman growled and yanked on the chain, pulling the Joker forward. Terry's fist tightened and he sent an upper cut into the Joker's stomach, knocking the air from the scum.

Batman, now in control of the Joker's chain, swung it like a cowboy in the old western movies that he'd been surprised to see in Wayne's video collection. He sent the chain out and caught three Jokerz in its hold and quickly bound them up. Two, he'd already brought to unconsciousness fairly quickly.

That meant five left to go.

His receiver kicked back with a burst of energy. "McGinnis?"

"Yeah," he answered, dunking a bunch.

"Barbara's on her way. You think you can hold them off until then?" Wayne's voice was slightly mocking, holding a humor only the old man would understand.

"Did the Penguin swim," Terry shot back. He leapt over a charging Joker. "Wait, I don't know if that's historically accurate. Only you'd know that."

He could just imagine Wayne, his hands folded before him and glaring at the vidscreen. "You're losing your focus, McGinnis."

To prove the old man wrong, Terry threw his fist backwards and clocked a Joker who thought he'd be clever and sneak up behind him. "You were saying?"

There was a grunt of acknowledgment.

* * *

From the roof of a nearby building, another shadow of the night watched the battle the Batman waged against crime. He observed, he learned, he discovered. He'd done so all evening long, as he'd sent out the Jokerz to test Batman's skill.

The reborn creature of the night had performed well. He was bringing each gang down one at a time with efficiency, but Penumbra saw the differences as if they'd been spelled in bright, bold letters over the black batsuit. Batman was fatiguing.

Not much, but just barely discernable to Penumbra's watchful eye. It only proved what Penumbra had guessed before this little exercise; that Batman would have to be destroyed personally by him.

But not until he had more information.

Tomorrow the tests would resume.


	2. Chapter 2

"Terry. Earth to Terrance McGinnis, do you copy?"

Terry snapped out of the daze he'd been in all morning. He'd found himself in another department store, vainly searching for the right suit. Currently, Dana was holding up a charcoal suit next to him, eyeing and measuring it. The female eye could never be questioned.

There had been one more gang of Jokerz the previous night before everything had quieted down in Gotham. Dead, even. Which had made him all the more suspicious. The old man was beginning to rub off on him. He'd not even gone to sleep, but had swept the city until the sun crested over the horizon.

He'd slept a collective of 49 minutes before Max had called to remind him that he was meeting her and Dana to pick out a suit. He'd left the warm comfort of his bed and stumbled into a cold shower.

"Ter?"

"Hm?" she waved the suit at him. "Yeah. It's nice."

The girls exchanged looks of long-suffering exasperation. "Ter, you've said that about every suit we've given you," Max reminded him with a wry smile.

Scratching the back of his neck, he cleared his throat. "Sorry guys. I guess I have a lot on my mind."

"Worried about graduation, baby?" Dana asked.

Although, he could tell that his late nights and continuous absentees still bothered her, she'd come to the point where she could deal with them. It came with maturity, on both their parts, and though she still didn't know about his alter ego, she had begun to understand that the work he did with Bruce was important.

The type that helped saved lives. Batman just wasn't a part of her equation.

"Yeah, like how I'm going to keep the audience from looking at you two, when everyone is getting their diplomas." This was something Bruce had taught him, misdirection could sometimes work better then a batarang.

"Try the suit on, McGinnis," Dana said in a feigned unamused voice. She thrust the suit into his hands.

Grumbling, he headed for the dressing room. He was about to open the door, when he caught a skulking figure hanging in the back of the department store. Looking over at Dana and Max, he saw that they had turned their attention back to the rack of coats.

He walked into the changing room and came out in the batsuit. Instantly, he switched to camouflage and hurried to follow after the figure. Of late he'd begun to fill constricted in the suit, his muscles bulging further out of the memory material. He feared that soon, he'd go to move and be restricted by the snug fit.

For now, he put it out of his mind.

The figure went through a pair of double doors and into the stores stocking area. In his eye display, Terry realized that he was draining the suit's battery with his invisibility act and quickly moved to stand behind a rack of clothing before switching off the camo. He'd rebuild the battery if there was a fight. The suit stored kinetic energy and the battery would soon be up to right.

Especially if there was a fight.

He began to think that this was just a petty criminal, looking to get him some schway threads. A punk, nothing more. That presumption changed as the figure passed over the shelves of high priced, Armani suits, fine leather jackets, and other items that were there for the taking. Instead, the figure ran quickly, further into the center of the mall.

It grew darker and Terry switched on his transmitter. "Wayne, are you there?"

"Where else would I be?" came the guttural drool reply.

"Right. Cause you aren't like other people, you know with the having of a life," Terry started on one of his rants in a hushed tone.

"Did you have a question?" Bruce barked into the transmitter, stemming off any further commentary on his partners behalf.

A mischievous smile spread a line of white teeth amongst the black of the mask. "No." At the rising growl, Terry continued, "An observation really. I'm at the Gotham Mall and there's something...not normal going on here."

"Terry, it's Gotham, explain 'not normal'."

Quickly, Terry outlined the past few minutes to Bruce. "It's like trouble is following me wherever I go," he pointed out. His quarry stepped into an elevator and Terry waited for the doors to close before he raced over and muscled them apart. He leapt down, landing quietly onto the top of the car.

Bruce gave a grunt. "It's always been there, kid, you're just starting to notice it."

"Why doesn't that reassure me," he countered. He saw Bruce's point though. His senses had been enhanced over the years, his skill to detect irregular behavior had heightened. He saw more and more of that which people held secret. Batman lived in the shadows so in the light everything was revealed.

If he felt disillusioned now, no wonder Bruce Wayne, who undoubtedly could have bought himself a happy life, had turned into a cantankerous old man.

"So what do you think?" he changed the subject.

"We don't have all the pieces."

"Right." Which meant, for now he continued the chase. "So how's the graduation speech coming? Finished it yet?"

"I haven't even started it."

"What? Wayne? You're slammin' me. What are you going to do?"

"I'll wing it."

If he hadn't known any better, Terry would have sworn Bruce had just made a joke. "Alright, who are you and what have you done with Bruce Wayne?"

He didn't have much time to ponder Bruce's new found skill, because abruptly, the elevator came to a halt. He stood poised, always anticipating the possibility of discovery. When the chime went of and Terry felt the hum of the motors under his feet, he pried the service hatch open and slipped down into the elevator car.

The doors attempted to close shut, but Terry forced them apart long enough for him to get through the shrinking opening. He found himself in the loading area of the mall. Large open space for trucks to pull in and out. It was behind one of these trucks that he heard voices talking.

"Were you followed?" a male voice asked.

"No," another one answered and Batman guessed it to be the goon he'd been looking for. "No one's seen anything. Who'd suspect we'd be holding them here."

A mewling sound echoed out to Terry. Cries that had been stymied by a gag, he concluded a moment later. Two sets of cries. Jaw grinding under the weight of his abrupt anger, Terry leapt onto the roof of the truck and peered down, the Bat poised to swoop on his prey.

Below there sat two children, bound and gagged, each with blonde hair and green eyes, those eyes had tears glimmering in them. They were either twins or very close in age, and there was no doubt that they were siblings. "Switch on your remote viewing," Terry whispered to the old man. "I've got a kidnapping situation."

There was a slight flicker in his visual as Bruce routed visual to the bat computer. The old man would take the visual and compare it to his records. It was only a moment before Wayne came back on, "Vincent and Emily Whittling. They've been missing for a week. Their parents received a ransom note but Ken, their father, has been having a hard time liquidating his assets."

"Time?"

"Running out."

The two men holding the children were both in their late thirties and screamed thug. Whoever had concocted the plan, wasn't present. "How about the dregs?"

"The one to your left is Michael Creight, a local mercenary for hire," Wayne supplied.

Terry's forehead furrowed with a frown. "And the other?"

"Not in the database."

"That ever happen before?"

"Rarely."

Which meant the other man was either very good or very new. Neither prospect appealed to Terry, the old timer's always new how far to take things, pushing the envelope just shy of bursting, where the newbie's didn't care about the envelope. The usually blasted it to shreds with gun's blazing.

The taller of the two, the unknown quality, hunched down next to the kids. "It looks like mommy and daddy don't love you so much. It's time to send a message." The guy stood up and pulled a gun from his coat pocket. He leveled it at the boy's head.

"No," Terry cried, bringing both dregs' attention on him. He fired his rockets and sent himself careening into the gun-wielding man. He slapped away the gun and lifted the man off the ground with the strength of his displeasure and the inertia of the batsuits rockets. He plowed the man into the nearest wall.

He was sure he heard a crack near the shoulder. _Kids_, he roared mentally. _They're murdering kids now._ Gasping deep breaths of air, Terry struggled for his calm. Batman had to be in control at all times.

"Terry, get a hold of yourself," Bruce said calmly at his ear.

It was that more then anything that helped him to reign in his anger. For a moment there, he'd seen Matt in the place of that little blonde boy. Not Matty as he was now, a twip teenager, all awkward limbs and equally awkward mouth, but as he'd been when their father had been killed. As he had been when Terry had thrown away his own innocence to don the costume of Batman.

He'd never regretted that decision, but he knew that he never wanted another child to loose the innocence that he, Bruce, and the others of the Bat family had lost.

Creight came up behind him, hoping to catch him off guard. But Terry threw his elbow back and caught the hired-muscle's solar plexis. As the dreg doubled over, Terry balled his fists together and sent them crashing on Creight's back. The goon went down and didn't come up.

"He said you'd come Batman," the other man said, the nameless one. "He always knows. And now, it's time for me to go." He threw something to the ground.

Bomb!

Terry ran and shielded the two kidnapped children, covering them as the bomb exploded.

"Terry?"

The smoke and debris settled and Terry looked up relieved to see that the brother and sister, though scared out of their minds, were safe. "I'm okay."

When he didn't hear a reply, he tried again. "Wayne?" he hissed.

Standing up, he realized that the blast had torn the suite. "Geez, I hope you aren't have an aneurism." He'd have to check in with Bruce before the graduation or the old man would have the Commish on his tail.

Batman he could deal with, but the former Batgirl...he knew all too well a woman's temper. And speaking of which, he had two lovely ladies waiting for him right now.

But first things first.

Deftly, he untied the kids and removed the electrical tape from their mouths. "Let's get you to safety." He hefted them into his arms.

"Wait," the little girl said. "This is for you."

A datadisc fell into his open palm.


	3. Chapter 3

Ace's ears perked up before Terry had even made a sound. The tension that had wound as tight as a spring inside of him, but hadn't shown on the surface, eased around his heart. "Where have you been? We lost communication an hour ago."

"I had to get a ride from Max," Terry replied. He walked down the stairs that lead into the batcave proper. His steps were as purposeful as ever but only Bruce would see that Terry favored his left side.

"You need a car," Bruce said.

Terry gave a cheeky smile, his intense eyes flicking to the sleek batmobile. "I've got a car."

"One slightly less conspicuous," Bruce replied as dry as ever. He spun around in his chair, turning back to face the batcomputer. Above, a replay of Terry's stand against the kidnappers came into view. He'd taken it from the suit's visual link. Once again, he swivelled back to Terry. The scene still playing behind him was already imprinted on his memory. "You're reaction time was diminished."

Shooting a glance at the screen, Terry changed the subject. "You dwell, anybody ever tell you that?"

Unamused, Bruce asked, "What happened?"

"The suit's been fitting more then snug lately," Terry admitted begrudgingly. Without another word Terry walked to the cabinet that held the analgesics that Batman required to hold the aches and pains of the job at bay. He pulled out one of the orange bottles, uncapped it and popped two pills into his mouth.

"You never said anything."

"Well, that makes two of us, doesn't it?" Terry countered with a raised eyebrow.

Damn, the boy was becoming more and more like him all the time. That meant physically as well as mentally. Terry had grown like the proverbial weed; not only taller but thicker in the shoulder too. In another year he would fit perfectly in the old batsuit.

Into Batman's old suit.

He'd once told Terry that he thought of himself in terms of his night life. Bruce Wayne had seemed a frivolity, a man weak and broken by the deaths of his parents at such a young age. Bruce couldn't commit, Batman was disciplined. Bruce hopped from lover to lover seeking to drown his pain in warm sensation. Batman leapt from roof to roof, hiding from his pain in the cold of the night.

There was still much that Terry needed to learn, but the heart of Batman had always been in the kid. And it was that heart, which had kept Bruce from leaving him to a fate Bruce himself had always dreaded. That emptiness in the wake of loss.

Terry and Bruce had come from different worlds.

Batman remained the same.

"You need a doctor," Bruce spoke into his own reverie. His own deep seeded fear of reliving the loss of his parents had caused him to push away everyone that had ever loved him. They were safe though. Dick, Barbara, Tim. They'd been through hell together, but they were safe. And a voice inside of him said that it was a good thing he'd forced them away.

"What I need is something to wear to graduation. It's 2:00 in the afternoon now. I have to be at the Plaza at 6:00. Four hours. Which most of it will be examining this." He pulled a datadisc from his leather jacket. "The kidnappers expected me, Bruce. Not just me/me or Batman/me, but both."

"You've been discovered," Bruce said simply.

Terry watched him guardedly, no doubt waiting for him to erupt. And what could he tell the kid? That it had never happened to him? They both knew he'd be lying. Ra's, Talia, Lois Lane, Dick, Barbara, Tim, eventually even the Joker had learned that Batman was Bruce Wayne.

"Give me that disc, McGinnis," Bruce growled.

Terry tossed it at him and Bruce caught it deftly. He slipped it into the batcomputer and tapped at the consul. Almost immediately a shadowed figure appeared on the screen. "Greetings Terrance McGinnis and Bruce Wayne."

He instantly felt Terry's eyes on him, the question in his silence. It had quickly degraded from bad to worse. And they both knew it.

"There comes a time when you realize the world has become too small for you. Or you for it. It's called commencement. I'll be waiting for you, Batman."

"Slag it," Terry cursed, throwing his fisted hand into a nearby wall.

"Terry."

"What am I going to do?"

"Terry."

"I can't let Mom and Matt go to the graduation. Hell, I can't let the graduation take place," the boy said, starting to pace.

"Terry."

"You'll be there but it's going to take more then a few years to get the suit repair. They must have known that. Man, what was I thinking."

"McGINNIS!" The young man finally focused back on him. "Are you finished?"

Terry took a few steadying breaths, the training Bruce had instilled in him the last six years returning in the wake of his rant. Like himself, Terry never minded the danger pressed upon him, that danger fueled the Bat within, but when it came to those he loved, it frightened him just as much as it frightened Bruce.

"I'm sorry," Terry murmured, running a hand through his hair. "What are we going to do?"

"We proceed as nothing has changed."

"But..."

"Terry," Bruce interrupted. "Whoever this man is, we will find him. In the meantime, you can't let him know that Batman can be bullied, that he can be frightened into a corner. Where others would falter, you have to stand firm."

"What about Matt and my mom? Bruce, I made this choice, but I can't put them in danger unknowingly. I can't make the choice for them."

Bruce steepled his fingers in front of him. "They'll be protected."

"I need more then that, Bruce."

The former Batman locked his gaze with his protégé. "They'll be protected."

He practically saw the wheels turning in Terry's head. Here was another example of how he and Terry were alike. They hated relying on another's word alone. It was this that had eventually drove Dick away, his inability to count on anybody but himself. But Terry had to trust him in this.

"Slag, I just had a melt down."

"It was your last," Bruce intoned.

"It won't happen again," Terry assured, puffing his chest unconsciously.

He was hard on all his kids for a reason. It was all too easy to go 'melt down' in this line of work and by goading Terry, he brought out the kid's natural defenses. "See that it doesn't."

"So what do we do?"

"Suit up."

The boy didn't question, he just ran to the changing room of the cave and came back an instant later, suited save for the mask that hung loosely in his grip. He walked back to Bruce and for the first time, the old man caught a glimpse of the damage his successor had sustained.

Terry hadn't had time to clean up and dried blood had caked on both the black suit and Terry's back. Well, at least the parts Bruce could see. The boy was making a concerted effort to keep them from his sight.

"Now get dressed," Bruce ordered.

"What?"

A sly smile stretched his wrinkling face. "I needed to get a look at your injuries. And you were being stubborn."

"You're a sly old dog," Terry said, not able to keep his own smile at bay. Another difference between them. Terry had allowed himself happiness. "Fine. A little patch work under your less then delicate hands and I'll patrol."

"And then you'll go pick up your mother, Matthew and Dana."

"You haven't even started on your speech yet," Terry accused.

* * *

His legs hurt.

Not the real legs.

Those had been removed years ago. He only felt a phantom of what they had been before. His mind remembered having legs, even though they had been all but paralyzed. Yet, his crippling disease had caused him to be inadequate, more then enough for his creator to abandon him.

But he would soon prove that he wasn't inadequate, that he was superior to his predecessor.

He would even best the mighty Bat.

Coming to his feet, a Joker, a idiotic fool, reached to steady him on his gleaming legs, but Penumbra tossed away the offering hand, his upper body strength enough to throw the fool several meters.

"I am not an invalid!" he roared.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Okay, it took me a while, but I think I've finally found the voice of this fic. I don't know if I'll go back to the other chapters and change them (I really want to) because this series will have fourteen (or more) different stories. Thanks for reading.**_

Barbara hit the edge of exhaustion and pushed beyond it. Like her father, she had chosen not to be one of those Commissioner's who hid behind a wooden desk full of paper work. Instead, she had taken to the streets.

The perpetrator was a member of the 'T' gang. One of the few gangs that dared showed their face in Gotham now that the Jokerz had nearly tripled in numbers. Somebody was funding them and despite the department's best efforts, they had yet to discover what had spurred the troublesome gang.

A twinge at her side, brought Barbara's thoughts back into focus. Batgirl she might have been, but Batgirl had gotten old. She was nearly as spry as she'd been in her youth, but there was the arthritis starting set in, for which treatment would only hold at bay for so long.

Thank God she didn't have the heart problems that haunted Bruce, the very same that had caused him to turn Wayne Manor into nothing more then a catacomb. If it hadn't been for Terry giving him a second chance at fighting against crime, no matter how offhanded...well, if it hadn't been for Terry a lot of things in Gotham would have gone toward the worse.

Her husband, Sam, would have been dead.

"Halt," she cried, as the gang member came upon a large chain-linked fence. She could make it over, but the days of leaping meters into the air effortlessly were gone.

From slightly behind and to her right, one of her deputies fired a volley aimed purposefully askew as a warning. "The Commissioner told you to halt."

The 'T' didn't hesitate. Gotham's history did not shed a good light on the police force. Few criminals took the threat of jail seriously. It was one of the reasons she had been so against Terry's assuming the mantle in the first place. What threat was a law enforcement with its loopholed rules, when there was a man dressed as a bat who held no compunctions in his pursuit.

Or a woman, she thought with a self-deprecating snort.

With a metallic rattle, the gang member leapt onto the fence. Barbara took advantage of his moment's pause to reorient himself and doubled her pace. Hunching over, she ran into him, tackling him as though he were a quarterback.

Together, they rebounded off of the fence. Falling backward, Barbara kept her arms around his waist, making sure to take him with her. The air rushed out of her lungs as their combined weight smacked against the pavement.

"Let go, you psycho cop," the 'T' cried, struggling against her.

She clung to him like a bimbo on a rich man.

"Need a hand?" a deep voice asked, roughed by design but still holding a note of humor in it.

With a grunt, she shifted her grip on the 'T' and, using an old wrestling maneuver, reversed her position. The 'T' found himself with an up close view of the black pavement. She looked up at the gnarled face of Bruce Wayne. "No, I've got it."

She pulled the gang member's hands behind his back and then cuffed him. Barbara pulled both of them to her feet, making an effort to not look at Bruce. "Clawson," she barked, shoving the 'T' in her deputy's direction. "Read this dreg his rights."

Clawson gave Bruce a strange look but she shot a glare in his direction that sent him hotfooting back to the squad car.

"What are you doing here, Bruce?" she asked, leveling that same baleful glare in his direction. Where it had threatened unemployment to Clawson, Bruce was completely unfazed.

"We need to talk," he answered, as terse as ever.

"You've lost your touch, old man," she dodged the subject, brushing off grime from her shirt and pants. "You used to be so subtle."

"We don't have the luxury of time."

That piqued her interest, but this was an old game. "We never do."

"I need a task force at Terry's graduation. We've got a new player, a smart one."

She frowned. "Bruce, I can't do that."

"I'm not asking you," he growled.

Her eyebrows hiked up on her forehead. "You can't order me around any more, old man. This isn't the old days. You want something done, you go through the proper channels. Otherwise, stay off my streets, Bruce."

"Barbara, he's been unmasked."

A dark feeling, sick and twisted as the real Joker himself, settled into her belly. The feeling had been repeated once before, when Tim had been found. "Who?" she asked, keeping her voice even.

"I don't know," each word was pulled from him by an unseen force.

There was a long silence. So many had separated them, separated him from those that had and would always love him. The man had buried himself so much in his cause that he'd lost touch with everything else.

"I'll do it," she said, turning to follow Clawson back to the squad car. She didn't face him as she continued, "Under one condition; Batman's nights come to an end."

"He won't agree to that."

"Don't give him a choice." Another pregnant pause. "That's the deal, Bruce. Take it or leave it."

"Bring your people in, Barbara."

She nodded, accepting this as his word. "I look forward to hearing your speech. Don't interfere in police business again."

* * *

Mary McGinnis sat on the edge of her bed, gazing at her closest. What did one wear to their son's graduation? Considering there had been times where she doubted Terry would graduate High School, let alone college, she had never truly prepared herself for this day. 

Part of her was sad. Terry had moved out after graduation, getting an apartment closer to the University. She'd though he hadn't been home before, but the near constant absence of his presence had left an echo in the apartment. When she'd started yearning for Terry and Matt's incessant bickering, she'd known that things had changed drastically.

It was only few more years before Matt followed after his brother.

Loneliness, a maudlin thought.

Mary shook her head and pushed herself to her feet. There was no point to ruminations at this late date. There was little left to be done but stand and be a proud mother.

She'd have to offer enough love for two parents now.

Outside her room, she heard the door open and slam shut. Matt. The boy liked to stomp through the house, making his presence known loudly. "Ma, I'm home."

"I'll be out in a moment," she called to him.

The refrigerator door opened with the soft sucking sound of the seal breaking apart. Matt was at the eating-everything-in-sight phase and was growing up as healthy and strong as his brother. It helped that Terry had insisted that Matt take a self-defense class, focusing all that raw teenage potential.

Terry had paid for it all and continued to deal out the creds as Matt took to the sport with unparalleled enthusiasm. At first she'd been wary of the idea, after all Terry had been in a number of fights long before he'd had any formal training. She'd feared that same aggression would send Matt into the arms of the gangs that had nearly swallowed Terry.

Matt excelled. His grades were good, better then good, superior, and when he wasn't home or at school, she always knew where and with whom Matt was with.

She picked a pale blue dress and quickly donned it.

Mary came into the living room as Terry came home from his morning of shopping, sans the desired suit. "Hey, Ma," he greeted her. "Hey, twip." With that last to Matt, he reached out and stole the sandwich that Matt had made for himself. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Matt grumbled, turning back to the array of food he'd left on the counter.

Terry flopped on the couch, his large frame causing it to creak with the strain. "Terry, what happened to the suit?"

His eyes widened in panic for a brief moment, unfathomable in its quickness. "Oh, yeah, the suit. The suit I was supposed to buy. Sorry, Ma, it looks like I'm going to have to wear one of my old ones."

"None of them fit you anymore," she reminded him. "That's why you were supposed to by a new one, remember?"

"I know. But Mr. Wayne needed me." Her eldest son staved off any further need for answering by biting into his purloined sandwich.

Not for the first time, Mary McGinnis wondered what it truly was Terry did for the reclusive millionaire. When the famous Bruce Wayne had shown up at her front door it had seemed almost like a dream, when he'd offered Terry a job at a time where they most needed the money it had been a miracle. And he'd paid Terry well.

But the hours had been impossible. The late nights. The calls at 2:00 a.m. with some lame excuse about getting lost in paperwork. It had seemed that Terry was using Mr. Wayne as some sort of scapegoat.

It had been a relief every time to hear the old man praise her son's efforts on his behalf.

"What was it this time?" she asked, forcing humor into her voice.

They'd often joked about Bruce Wayne's neediness, but Mary somehow doubted that Terry was there so much as an assistant but as a companion for the old man. The man had no wife, no children of his own. However, she knew the man had taken in two boys after the deaths of their parents. There had been an estrangement with both of them that had caused every news and magazine to postulate.

After all his money, the poor man had been left with nothing but an echoing house.

"He, ah, had some words of advice for me," Terry answered as cryptic as ever.

"That couldn't wait until tonight?" she questioned.

He shrugged. "You know Mr. Wayne, he hates to wait." He glanced up at the clock. "Mom, I've got to get ready. I'll fine something in my closet."

Terry started for his room when he stopped and came next to her. He brought her close, wrapping arms around her waist. "Look, Mom, I can't really explain this. But tonight, whatever happens, stay close to Max for me."

Surprised, her eyes flicked up to meet his own. "Terry, what are you talking about?"

"Don't ask for answers I can't give," he countered, an edge hard as steel sparking in his blue eyes. "Please, just trust me."

His eyes now pleaded with her. "Okay, I will."

* * *

When Terry came out of the shower and walked into his room, he found a pair of pants, a shirt, and a nice jacket sitting on his bed. They weren't the newest fashion or even last year, but the sight of them caused a lump to form in Terry's throat. 

These clothes had belonged to Warren McGinnis, his father. The old familiar guilt and anger rushed inside of him. If he'd only been there, he could have stopped it. So many people had tried to assure him that he would have died alongside his father, but he knew differently. He was Batman after all. He'd gone up against some of the toughest Gotham had to offer and had come out triumphant.

If Bruce was any indication, this guilt would remain with him for the rest of his life.

He could live with it. It made him strong, kept him on the heels of injustice.

It was only moments before he was dressed and gazing at himself in the mirror. It was a snug fit, his father had been a tall but lean man. Still, it was better then anything he had in his closet.

Knuckles wrapped lightly against his door a heartbeat before his mother entered. "I thought you'd like that. It's still not a perfect fit, but we've got time to drop the hem on the pants."

Terry nodded. "It was a good idea, Mom."

She tugged on the back of the suit jacket, causing the shoulder area to snap around Terry's broad flesh. "He would have been proud of you."

"Thanks, Mom."

"Come on, let's get you fixed up, McGinnis."


	5. Chapter 5

Bruce had hired a limousine for the night. It was long, sleek and black. And just large enough to seat himself, Terry, Mary and Matthew McGinnis, Dana Tan and her father, and Maxine Gibson. Max's parents were customarily absent from her life and this grand achievement.

Terry was silent most of the way down, his intense eyes watching the streets as they drove by. It worried Bruce. Terry was much more talkative, lively, than Bruce had ever been. He was supposed to be excited, amazed that he had come to this moment. Instead there was a look of fear in those blue orbs.

The danger had encompassed more then just him. It had taken on those he'd most loved. Bruce had only seen it once before on the youthful face. That fear had reflected his own when the Joker had returned, resurrected by Cadmus technology, threatening more then his usual antics.

Next to Terry sat his girlfriend, Dana Tan, holding his hand and chatting nervously with Terry's best friend, Max. Mr. Tan had taken to reading the daily news on his personal computer unit, while Mary did her best to smooth down Matt's unruly hair.

And Bruce...well Bruce was trying not to panic. It had been a long time since he had spent any amount of time with this many people in such a small confinement. Coupled with Terry's contained agitation, there was a thick tension that permeated the air. All of them felt it, if not everyone understood it.

"So, Terrence," Mr. Tan was the first to break the silence. "What do you plan to do after graduation?"

Flawlessly, Terry answered without sounding as preoccupied as he actually was. "Continue my work with Mr. Wayne."

"As a gopher?" Mr. Tan asked with obvious disdain.

"Dad," Dana tried to stave him off.

"Now, sweetheart, I'm looking out for Terry," Mr. Tan cut her off. "Surely a college graduate can do more with his life then fetching an old man his tea."

A growl formed at the base of Bruce's throat and echoed out through his mouth. "I assure you, Mr. Tan, Terry does far more for me and this city, then fetch tea."

Terry straightened with a cautionary sense of pride, while looking between his girlfriend's father and his mentor. The former attempted to match Bruce glare for glare, but came out looking more like a mouse ready to challenge a tiger.

"And what is it exactly he does, Mr. Wayne?" Mr. Tan said, his voice more tremulous then before. The man had guts, Bruce had to give him that.

"Dad, this isn't the time to be drilling Terry on his future."

Mr. Tan shot his daughter a pointed look, one that cause Dana to wilt into Terry. "You've chosen to go to medical school. I just want to make sure that Terry is making equal efforts."

"Wait? What? Medical school? You didn't tell me that?" Terry exclaimed.

Dana blushed. "Sorry, baby. It just sort of happened. I applied to Gotham Med never thinking that they'd accept me, but I got a notice e-mail yesterday. Full ride scholarship. I'd be crazy not to take it."

"You go girl," Max cheered her friend.

"Ter?" Dana asked, her dark eyes searching his own.

"That's great, Dane," he said fondly and hugged her to him.

Bruce saw past the facade. He knew that Terry was forever worried that one day Dana would get fed up with all the long and crazy hours and leave him. The boy went to extraordinary lengths to try to keep both his night and day life, and keep them as far away from each other as possible.

"It is a fine career, Miss Tan," Bruce said.

A light went off in Terry's eyes and he sent a pointed look at Bruce. He, however, refrained from voicing his thoughts on the subject, instead he turned to Max. "What about you, Max? What plans do you have?"

"Nanotechnology," Max answered in her deep contralto. "Research assistant over at MIT."

That caused Bruce to cock a curious eyebrow. He knew Maxine to be an incredibly gifted youth with a skill on computer to revival the entire faculty at MIT. The research staff must have been doing back flips when they'd read her application. Still, nanotechnology...that brought back too many unpleasant memories.

"Schway," Matt spoke for the first time.

Bruce had become aware that Matt had a better relationship with Maxine then he did with his own brother. Max had spent many a night babysitting while Batman saved Gotham, if not the world.

"Way schway," Terry agreed, though it sounded more like he was sulking. "When do you leave for Massachusetts?"

"Not til the end of the summer, so it's party time," Max said enthusiastically.

Bruce was about ready to change the subject, when the car came to a halt.

"We're here," Mary chimed with saccharine cheer.

The seven of them filed out of the limo, Terry making an overt display of helping Bruce out of the car. He knew it was a part of their cover, but it still rankled his pride. He was not a man to be coddled.

Terry had the driver open the trunk and from there he pulled Bruce's briefcase. Inside you wouldn't find the files or paperwork that you'd expect from the CEO of an international corporation, instead was the Batsuit. Bruce hadn't had time to do anything to it save for patching up the tear in the shoulder.

He hadn't exactly promised Barbara that he would keep Terry from being Batman from now on, but she would expect it and had enough leverage to make both his and Terry's lives miserable. Still, he didn't like Terry out in the open with little other then the thin protection of the cloth the suit was made from. Without the closing the running circuitry throughout the entire suit, it would not longer have the capability to repel gun fire.

It was Terry's increasing form that had stretched the circuitry in the first place and had caused the break of the defense long enough for the kidnappers bomb to rip through the suit.

"I'm just going to walk Bruce to the stage," Terry said, planting a kiss on Dana's cheek and hugging his mother.

Max winked at Terry as she sidled in between Mary and Matt. The boy gave a short nod to his friend. "Come on, let's get some primo seats you guys," Max said, looping an arm through the each McGinnis'.

Bruce waited before all of them were out of earshot before asking, "What was that about?" he asked, Terry.

"I asked Max to keep an eye on everyone if there happened to be trouble," Terry answered.

"You told her?"

"I told her about the threat, I didn't tell her that it was directed towards me. The less she knows, the more she can deny." He shot Bruce a piercing glance. "Do you want to tell me about Dana?"

Ah, the boy was catching on quickly. "What do you mean?" Bruce pretended innocence.

Terry's eyes pinched at the corners, narrowing on Bruce. "There's only one full ride scholarship grant that Gotham University of Medicine gives to new students; the Thomas Wayne grant. Ring any bells?"

"I'm no longer on the selection committee."

"Uh-huh," Terry said, unconvincingly.

"I thought you'd be asking for a promotion after Dana's father masked lecture," Bruce hinted. "I could arrange for one even if it was nothing more then a facade."

Terry's hands bunched into fists. "I already told you, Bruce. I can take care of myself. I don't want your money unless it's helping Batman save the city."

His protégé went silent and Bruce knew that this was his opportunity to tell Terry of his deal with Barbara. After tonight Batman would be hunted by the very law that he was meant to uphold. He doubted that Barbara was bluffing, but he couldn't bring himself to tell Terry that it was over. Or at least make the attempt. Terry was as hardheaded as he was and not even the threat of jail was going to stop him from being Batman.

Bruce's reverie was interrupted by the Dean of Students and elderly woman who spoke too loudly at him. "Ah, Mr. Wayne," she all but screamed at him. "We were so pleased when Mr. McGinnis said that you could accompany us tonight."

Accepting her proffered hand with his own that wasn't grasping his cane he said, "It is an honor to be asked to such a momentous occasion." He hadn't used the placating Bruce-the-loveable-playboy voice in some time. It came off more cynical then breezy, but wasn't nearly as menacing as he secretly wanted it to be.

"Well, we're going to be starting shortly," the Dean continued, as loud as before. "You'd better hurry to your place Mr. McGinnis."

"Of course, Dean Stevens. I'll just walk Mr. Wayne to his seat.'

Her face was a mixture of fond sympathy as she gazed upon Bruce. "We'll make sure of his comfort, I assure you, Mr. McGinnis."

Terry nodded and cleared his throat to cover a chuckle. There was a wicked gleam in his eyes as he said, "Come on along, Mr. Wayne. That's it. One foot in front of the other."

As Terry 'led' him away from the Dean, he heard the woman say, "Such a great man. How brave of him to venture out at his age."

"You'll pay for this, McGinnis," Bruce grumbled.

"It's my ammunition for the next time you try to give me money I don't need or want," Terry said flippantly.

Bruce shook his head. "You can't work and be Batman."

"You did."

"Lucius Fox was CEO of Wayne Enterprises back then," Bruce countered harshly. "You have to make a choice McGinnis; Batman or a normal life."

Terry gazed at him with a mixture of irritation and fear. He'd already tried on numerous occasions to limit how much of Batman Terry actually became. When the suit had been stolen by what was essentially a computer virus and Terry had gone to retrieve it. Bruce had vainly tried to stop the boy from getting involved with the resurrected Joker, but once the enemy knew who you were, they weren't going to stop just because you weren't in the business any more

That was something Barbara hadn't figured out yet.

"What is this? Some sort of test? You can't keep this from me. This is my life. Batman's my destiny."


	6. Chapter 6

Terry tried not to fume most of the night, but he was angry at Bruce, angry at himself for not countering Dana's father, angry that the bad guy had managed to get under his skin so effectively. Usually, he could use this anger, channel it in the form of a black suit, but now he had to push it aside and just be Terry.

He was graduating right now or more accurately, in the next hour or so. Bruce's speech wasn't for another ten or fifteen minutes, according to the graduation program. After the speech they'd start calling the graduates. He should be relaxed, bored even. Yet, he felt as though he was in a fight against Mad Stan, waiting for something to blow.

Glancing around, he spotted Dana. They'd arranged the class alphabetically and she was five rows behind him, whispering excitedly to her neighbor. As though sensing his eyes on her, Dana looked up in time to lock gazes with them. She smiled and blew him a kiss.

He smiled back and mouthed, 'I love you.'

It was part of his normal life. The part that kept him sane. With Dana, his mother, Matt, and Max, he could see a light at the end of night. Batman was as important to him as the others, but he couldn't sacrifice one or the other.

So why was Bruce trying to make him choose?

He could guess. When he was younger, he figured that Bruce was only happy when he was making Terry miserable. Age and years spent with the old man had made him wise. Bruce wanted only to protect him. Even when he pushed him away, even when he screamed and ranted, and especially when he kept things secret.

This new rogue. This villain in shadow, coming to claim Batman's territory and reveal Terry's identity, worried Bruce. And in his customary fashion, he dealt with that worry with anger. It could have been anything. If not Terry's insistence on a normal life, then the way he dispatched a thug. Bruce's list of things-Terry-does-wrong was never ending.

And try though he might, Terry couldn't get Bruce to realize he didn't need the old man's protection. He wasn't the sixteen-year-old rookie any longer. Bruce's perspective and knowledge of the criminal mind was invaluable and he understood that Bruce had been more alive when Terry had donned the suit then in the two decades after he had retired.

But they'd become more like partners now. Batman and Batman. That made Terry chuckle inwardly, despite his nervousness.

What would it have been like for Bruce and Terry to work together when Bruce had been at his prime? He'd gotten a taste of it back when Ra's a Ghul had made his appearance - Terry still had nightmares of the beautiful woman masking the old psychopath's true nature - a taste that had not quite curbed his curiosity.

His blue eyes did another cursory sweep of the area, this time catching the Commish's people. They were conspicuous in their near stark white with the black vertical line bisecting them. They must have filed in during the valedictorian's speech. Further inspection sighted Barbara Gordon at the back of the room, her arms folded, her back leaning against the wall.

She didn't look happy to be there.

Terry wondered what Bruce had done to get her to agree to this. Her begrudging acceptance of Terry's nightly activities had become more strained over the last couple of years. Of course, she had always struggled with it, even going so far as to believe that Terry had once killed a man as Batman.

She'd been more receptive to him after he'd been proven innocent, but their relationship had always been uneasy, at least when it came to Batman. He supposed that was what happened when Batman and Batgirl became involved. Deep down, he knew the Commish cared for him and was trying to save him from the same horrors she, Bruce, Dick and Tim had all faced in the old days.

He was both relieved and unnerved by the GCPD's arrival. Their eyes weren't centered on him, but he felt them nonetheless, accusing him of not being better, of not already knowing who this dreg was. He'd only felt this vulnerable once, after his father had died.

* * *

Barbara had managed to get her men into Gotham's Country Club Hall by sheer blackmail. At first when she'd suggested security for the graduation, the staff had scoffed at her. When she'd mentioned that there had been a threat against Bruce Wayne's life, their eyes had sparked with dollar signs.

Usually, Bruce didn't like his name being used as weight, but she figured that he was the one who had forced her into this choice.

But the hall was lined with her task force. And all they had to do was wait now. It was part of police work she hated the most. As Batgirl, she'd sought out the criminals that had terrorized Gotham. The underworld no longer hid, especially from her.

She sighed, watching as Terry glanced her way. She pretended to miss his gaze and the fact it lingered told her he'd caught it. She didn't want to face the boy now. Guessing from the lack of anger she'd suspect when Bruce told him that Batman was buried, the old man had not yet lived up to his part of the bargain.

Bruce would have to eventually or Terry would find himself in a jail cell. Most likely he'd be brought in by her. Who else could catch the elusive Bat then one who'd shared the same teacher?

With a sigh, Barbara pressed her headset on with a finger to her ear. "Everyone in position?"

Hushed responses answered her. There was thirty in all. About half of them newbies, on the force only a handful of months. The other half had at best double that. Cops moved in and out of Gotham like the cashiers at fast food restaurants. Everybody wanted to be a hero until they learned that hero didn't pay very well.

"Keep a sharp eye out," she ordered.

Bruce stood from his seat, his cane clacking loudly on the stage where the Dean and faculty of Gotham University sat. It brought to Barbara's mind another graduation, so many years ago. Dick had been silently furious. At least Bruce had the good taste to show up to this one. Now that she thought about it, she wondered how long Terry would stay.

She doubted that he would make it through the night.

* * *

Cane clacking, joints creaking, Bruce slowly rose to his feet. He cursed age with each step, though he knew that due to his intense physical training, he was perhaps better off then any eighty-year-old man had any right. Still at times like these, when he had the youth of Gotham looking up at him with those glazed expressions, the type that exhibited respectful boredom. He was rich so that grabbed some of their attention, but he was also considered feeble, loose-minded, too detached to understand the world. Several inches from death.

He wanted to growl at the thought, but he was playing a part.

Coming to the podium, Bruce rested his cane to the side and then gripped the edges of the podium with strong, wrinkled hands. "Today, is a step in a million." He swore he saw Terry roll his eyes. "But it is a bright step."

"I don't know most of you and I don't have to. There is one single question brewing in your minds now - Where do I go from here?"

He hadn't been joking with Terry when he'd said he hadn't prepared a speech. For a brief moment, after the shock of having his secret revealed, Bruce had felt an immense rush of relief. He'd been counting on this shadow man to make his move before he'd actually had to stand before the graduating class.

"What kind of impact will I leave on the future?"

It would seem evil had gone a little further into the realms of the sadistic. He was about to settle into his impromptu monologue, when he realized something.

"Gotham is known for its shadows," he continued after a inexorable pause. "What you have accomplished in the last four years has done much to banish that shadow."

From the back of the hall, he saw Barbara straighten, looking at him with sudden alarm. She would hear the slight differential in his voice, the warning that he couldn't quite keep at bay. "What does commencement bring?"

That caught Terry's attention, he stood up, ready to run forward.

"A larger world."

The floor beneath his feet gave out and he fell.

* * *

"No!" Terry called out. A moment later his feet were pushing him towards the stage.

Barbara Gordon switched on her communicator. "I want every man on that stage now."

"Commissioner," a voice said behind her.

She was about to turn and address him, when her head was hit from behind. She dropped to the ground unconscious.

* * *

Terry leapt on the stage in one bound and threw off one of the GCPD that rushed him. He didn't have time to wonder why the cops were after him. He really didn't care. All his focus was spent on learning where Bruce had gone.

He came behind the podium and stomped his foot against the wooden floor. Above the din of confusion that had erupted the moment Bruce had disappeared, the gun fire that the GCPD was sending shooting into the air, Terry heard his bangs echo back at him.

A trap door.

His head came up, his mouth opened to shout at the Commish when he saw when of the GCPD use the butt of his gun to knock her out. The Commish went down in a heartbeat. Torn now, he watched as the one who'd struck her signaled to two of his companions. They hefted her limp body from the ground.

Fearing that they would come after his mother, Matt, Dana, and Max next, Terry shot his gaze to where they'd been sitting. He followed a course from there amongst the horde of panicked people to find Max's brilliant pink hair. She'd gathered Dana and his mother and brother, along with Dana's father and was now shepherding them out with the others.

Knowing his more vulnerable family was safe, he checked the rest of the crowd. It seemed more that the GCPD was interested in herding the crowd then harming them. Terry's mind instantly put the link together, Bruce, Barbara...

"Terrence McGinnis," a deep voice said behind him. "Or should I call you Terry."

Gritting his teeth to the point they creaked under the strain, Terry faced his newest rogue. "No," he hissed. "You can call me Batman."


	7. Chapter 7

Bruce hit something soft, but the impact stole the breath from him. For a heartbeat he was paralyzed, but only a heartbeat. Instinctively, Bruce's superior mind began to collect evidence of his surroundings. There was a repugnant stench, a cross between mildew and rotting food. He supposed he was close to where they dumped their refuse. He didn't think any part of Gotham still held those old refectories.

He'd landed on a pad of some kind, absorbing most of the impact of his long fall. Still, his back had cracked in all the wrong places. The area was dimly lit and Bruce could only see a few feet in front of him.

There was a strange huffing sound, repeated, but not in a cadence, that held a slight reverberation. Rolling, Bruce came off the pad, and struggled to his feet. His knee trembled but held him. His cane was most likely still sitting by the podium, unaffected by the change of events.

Bruce was beginning to understand this opponent, even if he still wasn't sure of the man's motivation. He was a man for double meaning. Bruce had only begun to guess the reason for the trap door when he'd begun his speech. The enemy had called him by name on that vid disc. Both him and Terry. This was as much a trap for him as it was for Terry and he'd sprung it in the hopes of catching the enemy off guard.

Terry had guessed his plan but had been too late to stop it. Now he had to hope that the boy would be able to handle this one on his own.

Above him, he heard a banging and guessed that Terry was already working out a way to join him.

Meanwhile, that huffing sound had not stopped. Tentatively, taking step for step as a child on new legs, Bruce searched blindly into the darkness. Strangely, this was one of the few buildings he'd never been inside the basement, for that's what he guessed this was. But he'd seen blueprints and Bruce's eidetic memory recalled them with perfect clarity.

His first analysis was somewhat correct, though it wasn't quite refuse. This had once been a storage facility and the repugnant smells of food left to rot had baked themselves into the cement walls.

The stench of the past lingering below the opulence of the future.

He hobbled forward, his arms stretched out to warn him of any impending walls. He'd landed near the east wall and had rolled toward the west. That should give him a length of open space, but he didn't know what could have been brought down here.

The knight in the dark, he moved toward the sound which he decided were tears repressed by fear and a gag.

Bruce's foot hit something and one of the reverberating huffing sounds, raised into a gasp. His hands came lower and touched the fine strands of hair. Getting lower, he continued to let his fingers produce a picture. Do the smoothness of the skin, Bruce guessed it was either a child or a woman.

His fingers brushed fabric and found the gag. "I'm going to remove this," he mewled in a low voice. "Don't make a sound."

Just as he brought his gnarled fingers to the knot at the back, he was surprised by the sound of footsteps. The woman before him, this time he was sure by the way she struggled to pull herself inward, began to cry again.

Light flickered on and Bruce fought against the sudden blare of light, his wrinkled eyes lining further by the unexpected onslaught.

When they had adjusted, he felt a pang of fear, instantly converted to anger, as two of the GCPD brought in an unconscious Barbara. "What have you done to her?"

"She just needed a nap," one of them said. They dragged her, feet bumping against the stained cement and dropped her on the pad Bruce had landed on.

"Who are you? What is the meaning of this?" Bruce snapped, doing his best to leap to his feet.

"Shut up, you old dreg," the other hissed, bringing his police issue up and leveling it at a kill zone on Bruce's chest. "You won't live long enough to talk to the boss if you don't."

Bruce would have to wait, keep an ever watchful eye out. Already he was taking stock of the room, forming an escape plan, contingencies, and alternatives. He didn't know how long Terry could be, he could be fighting their mysterious enemy right now.

His piercing blue eyes came back to the woman he'd been attempting to rescue. Her husband was with her, a man who was obviously doing his best to protect the woman and the little boy between them. The boy's blue eyes were tear stained, with black hair. He was about eight-years-old. The significance was not lost on Bruce.

Once again he was reminded that this attack was as much for him as it was for Terry.

But why? What was the motivation?

* * *

"Who are you?" Terry's voice instantly deepened, darkened, turned back into that gnarled reflection of the night streets.

Where most of the criminals in Gotham would cringe at that voice, feel their stomach's tighten in a mass of unease, the man before him chuckled. "I wonder how close it is to the original? Did you practice or did it come naturally?"

Terry narrowed his eyes and glared, dark as his voice.

"Not a man for talk, are you?" The silence was deafening. "Good."

Terry shrugged. "I've actually been told I talk too much."

"By whom? The old man? By now you must know the truth."

"What truth is that?"

"You aren't him. You're inferior. Whatever you do...whatever leaps you take will always fall short to what he did."

Terry inched back, feigning to be struck, to be hurt by the words of man who knew nothing about him. If he could get to the podium, he could snatch Bruce's cane and use it for a distraction. He'd left the briefcase with the batsuit back where he'd been sitting.

He needed a break, a space to get the case and pull a batarang. He hated not having something in his hands. He hated this waiting.

"Yeah, well who is?" he questioned. "The man can't crack a smile to save his life. But you know what the difference between me and the old man is?" He took the last step back, his fingers clasping around the cane. "He can't do this."

Terry hurled the cane and flung his body backwards, flying over to land in a pile of jumbled chairs. He flung them aside, kicking those that weren't easily swept away, and snatched up the briefcase.

He tore it open and snatched a batarang. Swinging around, he identified his target and stood poised, waiting for the man to make his move.

"You're showmanship is comparable though."

"Where is he? Where is the Commissioner? I'm not going to ask twice."

The man, the shrouded opponent, raised his hands, taking up the cane. He strained his muscles and the wood splintered and then separated all together. "Your threats don't impress me."

"Ah, and I thought that I was getting better at it," Terry replied in a feigned pout.

"Terry, Terry. Your days are numbered. Be prepared to be replaced."

There was a puff of smoke and the enemy was gone. Though there was the echo of laughter. It was the laughter that dug at the pit of your stomach. "Come and get me Batman."

* * *

Dana looked through the cloud with Mary by her side. "Where is he?" Max was herding them back, away further and further from the country club. Dana tried to fight against her, but the crowd was in Max's favor. "We have to go back for Terry, Max."

Mary wanted to be right along with her son's girlfriend, but she remembered the promise Terry had extracted from her earlier today. Somehow he'd anticipated this. She didn't know how or why, but he had. And he had wanted to keep her and Matt safe.

It frightened her.

Often she'd realized that due to his money Bruce Wayne was a target. It was only now that Mary saw that Terry had been made one to by association. And she wondered what it was the old man offered Terry to earn such devotion.

"Mom," Matt broke into her thoughts. "Batman will come," he assured her, the innocence of youth still shining bright in his blue eyes. "He came for me. He'll come for Terry."

"I certainly hope so, Matt. I certainly hope so."

* * *

Terry knew he was being played with.

Nevertheless, he took the time allotted by the enemy to slip into the batsuit. He knew that most of the high tech still wasn't functional, but he didn't care. He needed to fall into the persona, to be the Bat.

With the recent patch work, the suit was snug again, but it didn't have the tension that the electronic shield held. He could move easier then before, it was like wearing a second skin. He took the mask and slide it over his handsome features.

"Time to get to work."

* * *

Bruce was worried.

If his plan worked, he could get the boy and his parents out unharmed. But Barbara was still unconscious. Though there were decades between now and the time they'd been lovers, she carried a piece of his heart.

He dreaded the moment where escape would present itself and he would be forced to leave her. He hated not knowing this new opponent as well as he wanted.

There was too much shrouded in shadow, in mystery.

That was where he was supposed to dwell. Someone had intruded on his turf without permission and he wanted to twist it. He wanted to use the darkness for evil.

There was the sound of a door swishing open and closed. Footsteps followed, strangely heavy. As though each step took effort. He catalogued this discovery.

And then the man, his face cloaked away from vision, appeared.

Bruce had decided to remain standing, even though his right leg trembled continuously and only held him under his stubborn will. He straightened now, as best as his aging bones could hold him.

"Release these people," he demanded without preamble. "They're nothing to you."

"Oh, but they mean something to you," the deep voice responded. "And that's what matters."

"You can do anything you want with me. Let them go. Now!" he barked.

"Always so proud," the man said, his voice amused, almost pleased. "Someone needs to break you. Shatter his legs. Make him fall."


	8. Chapter 8

Bruce watched them come with all the quiet stoicism he'd possessed facing his greatest enemy's. These men, like those who paraded as the dead Joker, did not cause his heart to trip any faster. No that would come only after the fight. At least, he had to believe that. If his heart went out on him during the fight, he wouldn't have a chance.

_And this time there's no handy gun to defend yourself with_, he thought caustically. The rebellious part of his mind would never forgive himself for the moment of weakness, no matter what the circumstances had been.

Stealthily, he shifted his weight to his good leg.

And waited.

He didn't need to wait long. One of the GCPD rushed him within moments of the order issued by their unknown enemy. Bruce stood tall, waiting, his every muscle waiting in anticipation. His reaction time had diminished but he could compensate for that. Bruce Wayne, whether old or young, was still Batman. He hadn't lost what was truly necessary to stand and fight.

He dodged at the last moment, spinning on his good leg and brought his hands, gripped tight in a fist, down and around against his opponents back. The man, just an inch or so shorter then Bruce, went careening.

His cane would have come in handy, used as a wider range of attack, but he didn't dwell on it. Of course if it had been McGinnis, he would have called him on it, repeatedly, weeks from now.

The next dreg tried to be smarter, looking to cut Bruce's legs out from under him. An uppercut to the chin with his left and a side punch from his right. That man spun away, like a tornado. Uncontrolled and destructive.

There was a twinge in Bruce's chest. He ignored it. There was no way that he was going to let these punks take him down without a fight. Even if it killed him.

He took a hit to the chin and let it stagger him back a couple of steps. He'd been prepared for it. The pain easily channeled into that anger that had helped him keep crime in Gotham at bay. His back hit a rack of that held labeled cans that dated to the time where food was stored in them and kept fresh beyond any the normal capacity by preservatives.

He grabbed the first can and threw with all his strength behind it. His legs might be somewhat precarious, but his upper body strength was astounding for a man half his age. The can hit another of the GCPD, the first one that had rushed Bruce. Knocked off his feet, he was unconscious on the floor in a heartbeat.

"It looks like this will be easier said then done," Bruce growled low, his eyes narrowing even thinner.

The next dreg nearly stumbled at the look. It almost surprised Bruce, too much time spent with Terry, who seemed to have been born immune to the 'look', had made him believe that it had lost some of its potency.

Hands reached up to grab the edges of the cowl and drew the cloth back, illuminating the enemies face. He was normal. No radioactive, glowing skin. No chemical induced bleaching. There was insanity. It glittered like a jewel in his blue eyes, the shifting thoughts.

Bruce marked that the man didn't removed the robe he wore completely. Which meant, that this revelation was purposeful. There was the sense of aggrandizement about the whole scene. Again, he was struck with how personal this whole attack had been.

"I suppose I will have to deal with this myself."

* * *

Getting towards the powerlifts that would lead him to the basement was not a more difficult task then Terry had initially believed. The problem was the GCPD. A new wave of them, those that had been called no doubt after the first gun shot had been heard, had funneled into the room that was supposed to have housed a great day for his peers.

He dodged a punch, swept the legs out from other, was about to leap away from a gun when he realized it wasn't pointed at him. There was that sound, potential energy released into reality and the GCPD officer behind him snapped back, his right shoulder moving back faster then the rest of him. He landed on the floor, a dull thump.

Terry winced, but noted that the man was still breathing. He was relieved that those who were Barbara's men, knew to keep the rebels alive. You can't question the dead.

"Thanks," Terry said, his voice that of Batman, still gnarled but not carrying the fear and anger he'd been fueling it with. But it was only for that word, that one word. He barked the next sentences, "Now get the situation under control. I'm going to look for Mr. Wayne."

Working through the crowd, he did his best to move through the battling officers. He had to find Bruce and this new enemy. Already his lack of control over the situation was pounding through his blood, urging him forward.

And he also felt the fear. The fear that Bruce was in trouble. Always before he trusted the old man to hold his own until he arrived. But it felt different now. It was different. Bruce wouldn't fear death, he'd faced it enough times to not even blink, but Terry feared it for him. He didn't want to loose Bruce, no matter how much the old man drove him to the brink of insanity.

He'd already lost one father.

And he knew that Bruce had moved from respected mentor, to beloved father-figure. At that moment he fervently wished that the old man was yelling orders into his ear.

He clocked one more dreg before he was out of the ceremonial hall and into the corridors, heading for the lift. The car was at the top level but Batman couldn't afford to wait for it to descend. As he ran to it, he threw two explosive batarangs at the door. They stuck with repetitive thwacks. Through the smoke and debris, Batman ran through into the hall.

He found the archaic stair well, used for maintenance on elevators. Spreading his arms, he let loose the finds of his suit. He leapt, floating down the middle of the winding staircase. Once on his feet, he stood, cocking his head back and forth, bat ears perked to catch the slightest sound.

Suspiciously, he didn't hear anything. All and all, it added up to a trap. One that he'd walked in the moment he decided to attend his graduation. But he hadn't the wonder, the worry. With most of the criminals he'd dealt with, he knew their motives, their desires. The only thing he knew about this new player was that he had the urge to destroy both himself and Bruce.

Inch by inch, he wound his way towards the part of the basement that held his mentor.

It was too easy. He found his way into the old cellar just in time to hear an earthly bellow from the old man.

* * *

Bruce stood shakily waiting for the enemy to spring. He disliked that the man looked so normal, so human, save for the manic gleam in his strong blue eyes. He was used to the costume parade, those that he'd derived from or had derived from him. Scarecorw, Joker, Mr. Freeze, they'd all had some sort of chasm between them an humanity, that had made dealing with their cruel antics easier.

Or maybe he was just getting old.

The man lashed out with his left leg, sweeping an awkward by inhumanly fast kick to Bruce's long damaged right leg. The impact shattered the leg, as if a bulldozer had plowed over it and Bruce fell to the ground, letting out a horrid bellow.

"I should take the other one," the enemy said haughtily. "You only know half the pain I suffered."

Bruce drew in a deep sniff, swallowed back he instant urge to scream out as his leg throbbed in a painful drumbeat. Controlled, he gave a tight snort. "Pain?" he questioned. "You call this pain? I had a butler that hit harder than you."

"I doubt Alfred was prone to breaking your legs," the man intoned. Bruce's eyes went wide at the mention of his surrogate father. "Yes, you probably wonder how I know all that."

"Who are you?" Bruce gasped.

"You can call me Penumbra."

Bruce blinked. "The shadow."

"Yes."

"That doesn't frighten me."

The man came down to Bruce's level and for a moment his robes separated to show Bruce two golden legs. That explained how he'd been taken out in one kick. Yes, his bones had become brittle but he should have been able to withstand the first strike.

"It makes you feel helpless doesn't it. Unable to move. Not knowing what's going to happen next. Batman always knew. Bruce Wayne always knows," Penumbra continued. "What does it feel like, being in the dark for once and not being able to see?"

"I'd say boring, but that wouldn't be touching the surface."

There was a booming sound as the door to the cellar was flung open. In his batsuit, Terry stood poised for the attack. "Why does the villain always talk too much?"

"Ah...the understudy." Penumbra jerked his head back towards Bruce. "Do you think you can hold any better than your mentor?"

"I don't know, let's find out." Terry took a step and instantly electricity wracked through his body. A scream renting through the air.

"Terry," Bruce called out. He'd never been comfortable with referring to him as Batman and even if the thought had crossed his mind, this Penumbra already knew who they were.

"Pity. I thought he'd be harder to put down."


	9. Chapter 9

Terry cried out and fell to the ground like a lead brick. Pain spasmed through him, his muscles contracting and releasing in rapid succession. Vaguely, past the rush of energy, he heard Bruce shout his name in concern. When he'd first become Batman, he had taken a strange perverse pleasure in seeing how many times he could make the old man snap his name in that same worried manner.

But he'd ended that game years ago.

As the pulses continued, the suit, which was essentially a large circuit board, powered on and off. He could use this.

"Let him go, now, Penumbra!" Bruce barked. And through his blurred vision, Terry saw him struggling to stand.

The caused the young Batman to wince. Bruce just didn't not move. If he couldn't stand, that meant there was something physically wrong with him, something not even his stubborn will could overcome. Yet, Terry hadn't pushed him out of the running yet. Bruce had more then a few tricks up his sleeve. Nor was he going to wait around for Bruce to pull the plug on his agony.

He tuned out everything and focused on the batsuit, studying its fluxing power for a pattern. On shaking arms, Terry brought himself to his hands and knees. It was a painstaking process, pushing on muscles that worked one second and seized the next. But Terry had a stubborn streak about as wide as the old man's.

His muscles gave out once and he flopped on his belly before starting the process all over again.

Still, Bruce continued his attempts to demand Terry's release. They fell on deaf ears.

"You waste your breath, old Bat," Penumbra said. "I have my purpose and it isn't to be pushed aside for a tired old man and his latest attempt at resurrection. You will die and so will your puppet, and then he will know that I am worthy."

"He?" Bruce asked.

In answer, Penumbra drew a gun from his robes, and made a show of preparing it for execution. "You needn't worry about that," he told Bruce. "It's time to put down the Bat."

Terry gritted his teeth and sunk deeper into his conscious. He needed to find a reserve that hid deep within him. That place where he'd found the strength to raise the Joker's hand buzzer and zap the nano technoloy that had place the criminal loon into Tim Drake's mind. Bruce's life was at risk, just as it had been then, and who knew how far this mad man would go if Terry wasn't able to stop him now.

As the muzzle of the gun came dead center with Bruce's forehead, the old man gazing at it was unabashed loathing and little fear, Terry went into action.

He raised his hand and fired a batarang in the general direction of the gun, knowing that all he needed was a second of misdirection before turning another batarang at the source of his torture, an outlet that was about two yards away from his current position. Luckily, he would get more then a second, the batarang hit the gun and sent it spinning end over end in the air.

Terry fell again as a new wave a pain shot through him, when it timed out for a half a heartbeat, he raised his arm again. There was an explosion. And he was free of the pain.

With a growl that sounded more like a battle cry, he leapt at Penumbra, catching him at his midsection and sending them sailing over the fallen Bruce. They hit the floor and Terry's back fell on the edge of a mattress. He was surprised to see that's where they had brought the commissioner.

Something snapped at his leg, harder then anything that was made of flesh and bone. It was a glancing blow though, lancing through the suit and Terry's calf. He didn't want to know what it would have felt like if it had contacted directly.

He rolled up onto the mattress, grabbing Barbara as he went, gaining distance away from Penumbra and his goons. The lackeys following the boss were huge, neanderthal looking men, that watched Penumbra's every move. In their eyes shone loyalty. He'd seen it in many of the gang members. These guys fought without question and without the fleeting thrill of monetary gain. Devote, they'd die protecting their leader.

Achieving the distance he'd wanted, he hauled himself and the Commish to a standing position. He gave her cheeks a couple sharp slaps. "Come on. Wakey, wakey," he murmured, but whatever they'd hit her with, she wasn't going to be waking any time soon. He ran, staggered, and dragged Barbara over behind a rack, positioning her as comfortably as possible and getting her out of the direction of danger. He gave a sigh as he looked her over quickly. It would have been nice to have Batgirl watching his back.

Then he stepped out and faced his enemy.

"You're better then I expected," Penumbra admitted.

"You'd better believe it."

Terry was set to leap at him again when the man made an imperious gesture with his hands. "Kill him."

They came at him, eight mammoth beings with necks as big as Terry's arm, in tandem. He ducked the first punch, grabbed the arm of his closest dreg and used his advancing speed to turn him around and into another thug. They went down, but he knew that it wouldn't last for long.

Out of the mass of limbs, one broke through his defense and clouted him on the chin. He saw those spinning lights again. With a shake of his head, he cleared his vision and blocked a leg meant for his chest. However, he missed the one that hit the small of his back.

These cavemen were trained and he wasn't going to be able to best them with strength alone. He was the more agile, quicker on his feet. He just had to keep control.

Most supervillains wanted to get to you from a distance and had no qualms emptying out a barrel. He couldn't remember the last time he went fist to fist with anyone, though he'd done it a lot before juvie.

He smashed his fist into the first dreg he saw, putting a powerhouse of strength behind it so the caveman doubled over. Terry leaped onto him and kicked off of the caveman's back, flipping over two of his large-brow-and-flat- forehead companions. They reached for him, but it was like their arms were immersed in molasses.

Landing on his feet, he instantly spun a kick backwards and knocked back one of the cavemen dregs. Ready to start the fight again, but with one part of his mind set to find a way to get him, Bruce, Barbara and the innocents out of this. If he didn't find an escape, he wasn't sure how long he could hold these dregs off. He couldn't do it indefinitely.

He would definitely die trying.

"Enough!" Penumbra's deep voice ordered. Terry snapped his eyes toward the villain and his blood froze in his veins. Before Penumbra was the little boy, and nearly hidden in the mess of black hair, was the villain's gun. "Don't move, Batman." He used Terry's alter ego like a course. "Seize him."

A flash went off in Terry's mind then, pieces of a puzzle snapping together that he hadn't realized he'd been fingering. This man wasn't like his other villains. He wasn't a made bomber trying to instigate change, he was a money hungry fortune 500 business man capable of doing anything to get the creds he desired, the closest he came to, was Shriek, and yet, the man didn't work alone.

Vengeance shone in his eyes. Not the type that had sparked Bruce's own personal crusade, but something darker and more unyielding. This man wanted his revenge on whatever wrong he'd imagined Terry and Bruce had given him. And there wasn't anything that was going to stop him.

"Stand down," Bruce said.

Terry did and the cavemen dregs took hold of arms legs and shoulders, weighting him like an anchor. And now, Batman, both Bruce and Terry, faced the death that was promised every night they had gone out to fight injustice in Gotham.

He found he had regrets. Nothing major. Telling his mother he loved her once more, holding Dana in his arms, playing vidgames with Matt, sharing a pizza with Max, were the few that came to his mind. He'd have liked to have those one more time before he'd died. Vaguely, he wondered what Bruce's regrets were.

The gun moved away from the boy's head and Terry breathed a sigh of relief. In a whiplash motion Penumbra's gun moved and two shots were fired. Terry looked down at his chest, expecting to see a pool of blood darken the red bat on his chest. But he was clean. He looked up in time to see the boy's parents slide limply to the ground, lifeless, the stains he'd expected on his chest blossoming on theirs.

"No!" he cried out and heard and echoing response in a deeper tone.

He rammed into the restraining hands of his captors and was too enraged to be surprised when he broke through. "You bastard," he shouted.

"Terry! No!"

There was another snap of gunfire, echoing in the confines of the basement like a thunderbolt. This time he felt the strike and it sent him hurling back. He smacked into the brick wall. Again, his abused body threatened unconsciousness. He pulled from that reserved strength against and rose in time to see his enemies making their escape.

"We've proven our point," Penumbra said.

Pain and rage, fed adrenaline into him and he was up racing after Penumbra and his lackeys. He came through the doors that he had parted minutes ago and came into a hall of darkness. Blindly, he staggered through, searching out his enemies. He never found them. Eventually, he collapsed and bellowed out his frustrations. He'd failed. For the first time since his father's death he'd failed.


	10. Chapter 10

Commissioner Gordon called Terry's mother and told her that Bruce had been injured and that as soon as Bruce was out of surgery, that Terry would call. It was a cover of course. Bruce's leg had been neatly bound in a caste within an hour of Barbara half dragging, half carrying him up to the reception hall proper.

It was only after the hall had been covered in blocking tape and most of the security officers, those that hadn't been a part of Penumbra's treachery, had gone to sleep off the nightmare, could Batman retreat to his Cavern in the shadows.

Barbara was there when he returned, as she'd dosed Bruce with the medication the doctor had proscribed for him. She'd slipped it into his tea and made the tea extra strong so his sensitive pallet wouldn't pick up on it right away. He'd caught it faster then she would have liked and he wouldn't be asleep for long, but it had worked fast and had forestalled the lecture poised on his lips.

The first sight of Terry would stay with the former Batgirl for the rest of her life and occasionally crept into her nightmares, those that sported a Tim with green hair and a pale face. The change in Terry wasn't as physical or as mental, but just about.

He'd lost a lot of blood and she was pretty sure if it hadn't been for the Batmobile's response system that he wouldn't have made it at all. He pulled himself out of the cockpit and collapsed on the cave floor. Much as she'd done for Bruce hours ago, she took most of his weight, which wasn't easy with her own aches and pains, and levered him to the old examination table.

There she managed to lift the upper half of the batsuit from his body. The pain must have been torturous, but he barley winced. His cobalt eyes, usually filled with mirth when outside of the suit, were now dull and empty. Shocked, his mind hadn't had the strength to recover from his recent ordeal.

She cleaned his gun shot wound, that had nestled in the spot between his breast bone and clavicle, and bandaged it away. All the while she waited for him to make some sort of joke about the treatment. He did it because he knew that it drove the old man insane and he did it because he also knew it gave Bruce life, a fire.

It felt like Terry's fire had prematurely winked out.

"Bad things happen, kid," she said after a moment and brushed away an unruly lock of hair from his bruised face.

"Not on my watch," he finally spoke. His tone was haggard and strained. There was a shuttered expression in his eyes, a look that she remembered from the times where her and Bruce had been getting to close and he'd sounded the retreat signal.

"On everyone's watch. People die." He winced then and closed his eyes as his body gave an involuntary shudder. "Like I said, kid, bad things happen."

He nodded and went silent as she disinfected the ugly laceration on his calf. Again, his thoughts had taken him away from his body and the pain. "This was personal, Barbara."

"Not aimed at you kid," she reminded him gently.

His ebony eyebrows raised up on his forehead. "No? It felt pretty personal to me."

"That show was for a ghost, Terry. A ghost, a memory, Bruce's legacy."

The kid shivered again and his gaze turned inwards. "That kid? He going to suffer Bruce's legacy?"

"Maybe it's time to lay aside the pain of the past," she told him. "Let the Bat rest, McGinnis."

"You never wanted me out there, did you? Not even when I saved Sam's life or yours? You wanted to bury it all away. Why?"

She sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. "You live in the shadows long enough, kid, they swallow you up. I decided I didn't want to be its latest snack. It almost ate Tim, but you saw that. I stepped out into the light and found I liked it. You might try it yourself, kid."

"I can't go out there like I did before," he asserted.

Barbara nodded, letting him have his defeat with dignity. Relief coursing through her. She turned back to his cut.

BATMAN-BATMAN-BATMAN-BATMAN-BATMAN-BATMAN-BATMAN-BATMAN-BAT

Bruce found the young man outside of the batsuit with his spare t-shirt and jeans on. Bruce, himself, had been confined to a chair with a hover capability the same as the Batmobile but on a lower grade, and glided down the staircase leading down to the cave with more ease then he had in years.

When he came to the base of the cave, his eyes flickered around in the darkness. And settled on the glass case that commemorated those who had fought by his side. Terry was putting the mask on top of an old dummy and stood back.

"What made you stop, Bruce?" the kid asked.

It wasn't the first time Terry had asked, but it was the first time Bruce felt he owed the boy an answer. "I broke my own rule. I picked up a gun in self defense."

"So this...," Terry trailed off.

"Is why we do what we do."

Terry didn't respond.

"Or is it?" Bruce persisted.

"I think...I think I got complacent. It got to be a routine." He snorted. "I mean Dana hasn't threatened to come down here and give you a piece of her mind in a long time." The humor was there but it had lost its spark. "It wasn't easy. But it was predictable. I knew my enemies Bruce and I was comfortable."

The boy gave his head a sharp shake. "I can't do this anymore, Bruce. Not anymore. I tried and I failed. And...well...things are going to have to change."

As usual, Bruce kept his tongue silent.

"I need to be more. I need to be everything you were. Everything you were before the suit that let you fly." He walked to the old cape and cowl suit, put his hand to the glass. "It's time I get to work."

**So ends commencement, but look out for the next story in Legacy.**


End file.
